Title

That's When the Nightmare's Begin

The Life and Death of Johannesburg

I came from Zimbabwe in 1994 to south Africa as an infant on my mothers back. My mother's name was Winnebago Samarium....we are black Africans who can not run a country of our own. we have come all the way from the past to bring the rest of the world back down to it's knees. my hands are the shovels that the devil uses to haul white people back down to earth when they build beautiful cities out of nothing....then i moved to America on my brothers back...to Alabama and became an American... i remember that fateful day i decided to become a stranger of Pearl, Africa, the mother of the human being, a dreary creature made of many different colors, shapes, various sizes and very distinct personalities, which i refer to as trash because trash have very distinct colors, shapes, sizes, and...smells....my father was a fisherman in Zimbabwe and he could not read very well. he could not read at all. my mother got burned alive on the streets of Johannesburg for being Zimbabwe born. now i am homeless. help me. i went to America with my brother and a ninety nine year old white lady named Barbra...i call her bar bar the great white shark lady. she has purple hair. i want to become the first black man to die in America from my family. however, I'm alive today and I'm only 18 years old. I've been home schooled by bar bar on a farm in Alabama since i finally decided to leave my burned alive mother in Africa. i must go into America and prove that i can die a humble and none disgusting death... this is my story...?

Weeeeew! thank goodness I made it to see another day! I didn't run across any new formulas today! you know those kinds of chemicals in my brain that allow me to be so bestial in my domain against the King and Emperors of Georgia Americana.
Tiger Moon! Crocadile Sun! Black Hole Iris! and Camel Toe Gallaxy! These primary loud universes at the helm of my warmed buttock yell in the background---as farts! I heard them mother, you are in Alabama still aren't you, sweaty, tired, bored, and fat i suppose....i love you mother! you know your oldest son is gone mad don't you mother? Oh don't be sad, he likes his insanities. They are his lyrical codes that none whore should crack when the nuclear bomds destory Al Gore's hot Earth! They are like the bees working away at this heart, the bee keepers hive. Hold up! Someone is beating on the tresses of my very doorsteps! I do not own doorsteps i merely see them under old rugs....
Who goes there, you foul knocker! Is it you Stink Breath Carmela, you fucking hag, bowing to invisible Jesus like that! I knew it, a dreary fucking whore with beetle antennas leaping out of her hairy ass!
I might as well pay her the two pennies i owe her for killing those two dastard roaches that keep eating my brain every Ash Wednesday. Oh take this you slut and shut up! no, not my mighty medium sized cock and curve! the pennies take it! Take.... the....fucking....pennies! Take the fucking pennies and leave! oh goodness, you are my blubbering slave, you hag! See you again next time when i have more roaches for you to kill! be gone, hag!
I own sluts, Hahn ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Dekametrius, you are so Randy darling! (the evil laugh of Dekmetrius in the background)! Now about politics in the face of poverty! Ah the pleasures of fascism in the face of contrived republics in the democratic meritocracy of the ghetto in Decatur! I loved the fuhrers ideas in reverse! he hated Jews. i love Jews. he hated blacks. i .... well.... i don't know if i love blacks.... i love me mother.... she black.... i don't love that crusty dude Alvin who begs on the train....God Bless You Sir! go to hell you Slut! you Beggar! you fucking bugger in thy hairy, snotty nose!
And while i think of these silly anecdotes for my pleasuring and henceforth botched delivery in the insanity ward (America), i loved being in the middle of my mental illnesses....encouraging it to grow pterodactyl wings and flying back through time.....what? the doctors can't prove nothing is wrong with me but that I'm............strange black man in his early thirties....that's what the psychiatrist said.
Don't drink too much wine, she said, it will make you crazy like Larry Joe, your uncle. but merry well be I Deka; the low down dirty scallywag with a shaved head on Saturday mornings.

Red Wine and Sweet Tea

Mix in a little fairly tale, the dust of a huge black gruesome monster, a smaller more handsome green creature, throw in two bums begging on a train, brothers know doubt, and while you're at it add five black girls and you've got a party drink straight out of a Fiend Tale... Adonis's Fiend Tale about Yegg's and letting the people rule, regnant populus, with all the muck-a-mucks and none sense like that; and oh yeah I'm part dictionary and part porn whore by the way, as I'm widely smiling informing you of this fete, just thought I'd add that. I like Anne Sexton, rag dolls, Japanese dishes, Chin Chang Girls, and sick bald headed guys, five seconds before they die anyway they want... but never mind that, lets get back to the Red Wine and Sweet Tea shall we, now whatever was i saying about that again?

In love with Words

Here are a list of words I'm learning:

Toxophilitic
Rondeau
Sapaceous
Velutinous
Repudiate
Sedulous
Labia Majora
Tenebrosity
Profligate
Ephemeral
Eolithic
Abattoir
Satyagraha
Mauve Decade
Epistemologist

Welcome home to the nuclear waste dump

last night i fought off eight large flies at the bottom of the dungeon, my so called apartment, 666 waste house drive no doubt, where the filth has become so acquiesced that i image dirty rotten bums should start drifting towards my glass door soon. i need to move SO bad but its even sadder why i mustn't or still that i can't. The abattoir, my home, my dirty bathroom, my soiled spotted dogged carpet, at the bottom of the barrel where only i can dwell, my hell, my abode, my stunning little space filled with so much nuclear waste, my dump of a life to compliment it. Well hell, at least i should write about it to give to the world to dice up and give back to me as an entree of how they'd handle the situation. My apartment looks like a butcher has mistaken it for the slaughterhouse that it is but the dead only bleed clothes, plates, rats, roaches, flies, and parts of my imagination overwhelmed by this nuclear reactor in my eyesight that captures it all and encapsulates it, devours it, then showers it back onto the nuclear waste dump that is this life some times.., yes, yes, yes, my dear, your are welcomed....

Reboot The Server Mr. Dumbfound Complexity

today Jessica asked Mr. Dumbfound to reboot a server. the server goes by the name atlcnnref1. when Mr. Dumbfound looked up the server he found that the grid wasn't added to the ticket so naturally he looked it up using Rem Dev asset manager. when he finished he went to P1 data center where the other lovely servers sleep hacking away at numbers dismally in their homely racks. Mr. dumbfound complexity had his ID paper in his hand, he rebooted the server he figured to be the right one, but it wasn't the right server. He emailed Jessica. Jessica emailed him back stating her disdain for his incompetence. For the rest of the work day Mr. Dumbfound Complexity hated himself for making that stupid mistake under the watchful eye of the computer geniuses. he dreaded that the killer dealer would be sent to decommission his power supply if he made another mistake like that. He vowed to pay very close attention to the tell tells screaming indications. The computer genius would forgive him this time. the blond lady wasn't at the planet command bridge and neither was the Digital Page so today Mr. Dumbfound Complexity would live another day. If he could make it past the Fire Walls to get to the other side of memorial drive...

Today is boring

everyday is boring on the job. Today i sit and listen to the pain in my body tell me to go see a doctor. i haven't had a checkup in ages. what happens now, i end up going to see a doctor and with all the unprotected sex, drugs, booze, cigars, I've put in my body over the last decade who knows what doc would find in the old bone frame. Ah man I've created a deadly half zombie in wake of living. Friday. what a day. I'll leave work, go to my apartment, think of zombies, kill brain cells, smoke my lungs, wonder how i got here, and bang, bang, bang, bang, there goes another Friday night lost to the doldrums...

fuck you mr. lonely

have you ever waken up in the morning half asleep in a puddle of murky morning stupor and find yourself awkwardly facing a bearded you on the other side of your bed. your a little green man but your black as hell. you feel like murdering someone but you're too tired to move. you want to get drunk but you can't afford a beer. you want to get laid but you don't own a bed. that's called single and in love with filth my friends. the love of Mr. fuck you too cause i ain't taken it anymore. peace out y'all...